


Four Weddings and a Funeral - George Weasley

by httpweasleys



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Requited Love, Romance, mostly canon, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httpweasleys/pseuds/httpweasleys
Summary: IN WHICH a series of weddings and events change their lives.Love at first sight was something George Weasley only heard about.But when he saw her eyes, he knew.Ok, fine. Maybe it wasn’t as magical as that. But when he met her, he felt something that made his head a little dizzy and his heart race just one beat faster than normal. She was perfect for all the right reasons.But for all the wrong reasons, she was American. And how was he supposed to keep in contact with someone an ocean away?Ouch.You see, George was an unlucky man. He had six siblings who were all flawlessly good. His older brothers had all achieved top marks in school and he hadn’t. His twin brother, Fred, was every girl’s dream and George wasn’t. His younger brother Ron was an auror alongside the legendary Harry Potter. Even his sister, Ginny, was quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies. George was never the first one people thought of in any situation. It always felt like he was in last place.So of course when he met the first person to truly notice him, he needed to find her - no matter how hard the task was. George Weasley might be an unlucky man, but his life could only go uphill, so what did he have to lose?
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/Fred Weasley, George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 5





	1. The First Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This story was very inspired by the movie "Four Weddings and a Funeral", hence the title. Because of this, it will follow a similar plotline in the sense where there are four weddings, a funeral, and quite a bit of relationships.  
> However, because this story is set in the Harry Potter universe (and also because I found the movie a bit boring and anticlimactic - I just liked the idea), things will also be different from the movie! There will be plot twists and friendships and romance and everything in between!
> 
> This story also takes place after the second wizarding war. Most things will be kept canon, though Fred, Remus, Tonks, and Mad-Eye survive. There will be mentions of ptsd and other psychological effects, but a trigger warning will be placed in the beginning of the chapter in which they take place - I will include a brief summary of the chapter at the end of it. 
> 
> I would also like to mention that I try my best to keep with each character's personality, but I have also provided my own interpretation for how I think they would act and behave after the war. This is subjective, so please don't take offense if it's not entirely accurate. I am open to suggestions of how I can improve my characterization though, so do comment if you have any feedback!
> 
> This is my first story on ao3 (it's published on wattpad also if you want to check it out, my user is -httpweasleys). I appreciate all comments and kudos!!!

**“WAKE UP** **YOU** git, we’re late!”

George Weasley was awoken by the lovely sounds of his twin brother, Fred, shouting in his ear. It was one of the few times he had heard his brother speaking since the end of the second wizarding war as Fred had lost the majority of his hearing in the Battle of Hogwarts, but it caused George no excitement like previous occasions. He merely groaned and turned over to the other side of his bed, causing his soft blanket to fall onto the floor. Fred kept shaking his shoulders in a lame attempt to wake him up.

“Screw off, Fred. Can’t you torture Angelina this morning instead?” George grabbed his blanket from the floor and threw it over himself. The bright morning light shone through their apartment’s yellow curtains and made his closed eyelids appear brighter. The blanket provided temporary relief, but Fred threw it back onto the floor and shook George again. He finally opened his eyes, annoyed, and glared at Fred.

“Hmm, no. Because she’s already _at the wedding,_ ” His twin brother said pettily. 

“ _Fuck!”_ George gasped. “ _Fuck_ \- Ron and Hermione are going to kill us!”

“I’ve already almost died once, what’s the _worst_ they can do?” And Fred tossed a hanger with George’s suit on it onto the foot of his bed. It was an ugly shade of dark green that almost made the both of them vomit the first time they saw it. No amount of protests could change anything, as the colour was supposed to match with the violet theme of the wedding, and the twins were left unhappy. “Now, what better than to dress up like leprechauns and celebrate young love?” 

“Sometimes your energy is beyond me, Freddie.” 

Fred simply smiled and pointed at the ugly suit that was waiting to be changed into. He had already changed into his identical outfit, the only difference between his and George’s being that he was wearing a grey tie and George was to be wearing a light blue one. George grimmaced and picked up the clothes. 

“At least you’re speaking again, I won’t have to translate your speech!” He feebly declared, making his way to the bathroom. The two had learned sign language after Fred had lost his hearing. George, who had lost one of his ears earlier that same year, was faced with a similar situation and they found sign language to be convenient in times when they didn’t want to be overheard or wanted to speak from across rooms. It soon became a frequent part of their communication, but the rest of their family didn’t bother to learn much of the language. George often had to translate for Fred as a result, as he used sign language the most.

But Fred shook his head happily, signing: _“I never said you wouldn’t have to translate my speech.”_

George sighed. Today was going to be _quite_ interesting. 

━━━

When the morning was sorted and the twins had finally apparated to The Burrow, it was hard not to be perplexed. The pure energy and excitement that filled the air was infectious and the sight of their childhood home only added to the elation. It was covered in flowers and decorations, a white tent extending the property into the field nearby. It amazed George how many guests were able to fit into the tent without bursting it open, and he was busy trying to count and name every single one of them as he and Fred briskly tried to find their way to Ron. Great relatives and grandparents were everywhere, friends and previous Hogwarts classmates at every corner, people he could only assume were family members and friends of friends that he did not know of filling the spaces in between. He was out of breath when Ron found _his_ way to _them_ and hurried them into a corner.

“Where were you two? Took you bloody long enough!” Ron cried quietly. He was dressed in a dark blue tuxedo, a white button-down underneath. He looked unusually nice, which shocked George considering his younger brother’s usual messiness. Even his _hair_ was slicked back. It surely must have been Hermione’s work.

The twins pointed at each other, rolling their eyes as if to say “you know how _he_ is.”

“Never mind! We were almost about to start the wedding without you two, you know. Hermione insisted we wait for the two other best men, as if Harry wasn’t already here.”

 _“That is entirely on you for picking us, mate.”_ Fred signed. Ron looked at him in confusion. The fact that their family was so clueless about sign language provided Fred and George with both perks and downsides. Fred spoke the sentence aloud begrudgingly. 

“I’ll never understand why you can’t just _speak_ , Fred-” 

They both laughed, but were drowned out by the sound of wedding music beginning to fill the space. Ron’s eyes went wide as he realised what the beginning of it indicated, and quickly motioned them towards the open space at the front of the huge tent.

 _“Ten galleons that Ron will explode by the dance,”_ signed George, noticing his younger brother’s sudden redness.

 _“Make it twenty if it’s by the vows,”_ Fred signed in return.

_“Deal.”_

And they rushed behind Ron, attempting to weave through the unforgiving crowd of people now gathering towards their seats. George soon found himself bumping into someone - a girl with a rosy red dress who had not noticed the beginning of the ceremony.

“Blimey, I’m so sorry...”

But the second he spoke, he saw her eyes. Whether it was the bright light streaming in from outside or her red dress that did so, her eyes were a deep shade of blue that seemed to look at him understandably - almost happily. Her dirty blonde hair was styled half-up with loose strands perfectly framing her smiling face. There was something about her that he just couldn’t place, but his stomach had suddenly become a rollercoaster of emotions and butterflies. 

His breath hitched.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to,” He blurted out. But before she could say anything, he could hear Ron telling him to rush back to him. So George trotted to the space next to Fred and exhaled. 

_“Who was that?”_ He signed.

 _“No bloody clue,”_ Fred gestured in return.

George was left wondering throughout the rest of the ceremony. The colour of her eyes didn’t leave his mind until the sun had set over the horizon and people began to break off to dance under the moonlight. 

He, though, could only see himself dancing with _her_ , his hand in _hers_ , laughing until the morning with _her_. 

The crowd was unforgiving like always, and she was nowhere to be seen. So he sighed, wandering around the area, the chatter of happy people filling his ears. It seemed so unnatural that people continued with their joyful lives as if they hadn’t been thinking about an unnamed someone over and over again. Even Fred had left his side to dance with Angelina, and George was left alone to chat with family or be introduced to people who were distantly related. 

“Say, your twin brother. You don’t know if he’s _free_ by any chance, do you?” One girl confronted him as he tried to make his way outside. Her bushy dark-brown hair was a sign that she was related to Hermione, and she was looking at Fred dreamily. Fred was standing with Angelina, the two of them signing a conversation, laughing in between. Angelina was the only other person who had bothered to learn sign language.

“Dishy bloke, isn’t he?” George responded, sarcasm hinted in his voice. It wasn’t the first time that somebody asked about Fred. While he usually found excuses to drive people away from his twin, today found himself just playing along with it. It was already unfortunate enough that Fred was almost deaf and engaged. 

“Yes, quite. But, what were they - _you know_.” The girl imitated their hand signals as if Fred and Angelina were crazy. 

“He’s deaf. Silent but _sexy_.”

She hoffed and stomped away. _Mission accomplished._ George continued to stroll across the tent, bumping into happy people as he longed to take a breath of fresh air. If he could only find the girl he had bumped into earlier, that was all he needed. The image of her stayed in his mind all day, and if he could just know her name…

“George, son!” The shouts of his father made George look up from his shoes and he weakly smiled. His father was accompanied by a joyous brown-haired man, drinks in both of their hands as they made their way to him. “I was about to introduce you to David! He’s from New York!”

George waved hello. “I interned with your father at the ministry, ya know,” The man smiled. An American accent tinged his voice, exaggerated with the alcohol he had drunk. It was hard taking him seriously, but any friend of his father’s was a good man and George continued to smile at the man, pretending to be interested. “Shame you don’t work at the ministry. Real waste of potential working at a joke shop, as your father tells me. Could have been like your siblings!” 

“Enough, David!” His father snapped cheerfully. George had an urge to put the man in his right place. He could just imagine what the man was going to say next: perfect Bill, hardworking Charlie, intelligent Percy, good Ron, hilarious Fred, talented Ginny. The list could go on. He had heard enough about his siblings to write a _novel_. Two, even! The most people praised him for was his ability to keep Fred in track, but was that really a compliment? He could only be so much funnier than Fred without making it seem like he was trying to steal the spotlight. The urge to argue with the man, however, was diminished by his father’s presence. Besides, he could only think about the girl and her eyes… what was it about them?

“David, how’s Amit? You two are lovely together, shame he couldn’t make it! He and Hermione would get along so well.”

“I couldn’t say, he’s been in Israel for the past month, his mother is sick… it really is a shame. Now George, was it?” The man held up his glass disappointedly, looking at George. The bar outside suddenly seemed so inviting, and George slipped away before David could make any more conversation with him. Reminders about his perfect siblings were already persistent at any other given day, and the least he was trying to do at the wedding was make it seem like he was enjoying himself. As soon as he reached the bar, he leaned against the countertop, sat down at the barstool and ordered himself a firewhiskey. The saddening feeling of love ached in his throat and only something as strong as a firewhiskey could combat it. He felt like a teenager _all over again_. 

“Guess my father scared you away, huh? I saw you talking to him…” An American girl’s voice interrupted his train of thought, and he quickly turned to see who it was. It was _her_. He spat out his drink, yet managed to nod in the chaos. The girl, however, was now taking napkins from the bartender and occupied herself with an attempt to dry his now even-uglier blazer. It turned an awful shade of black.

“I apologize if he seemed so harsh. I guess it’s in our Jewish genes, but it’s really no excuse, is it?” As she finished her unwavering attempt to dry the blazer, she looked at him apologetically. His heart raced once again as they made eye contact and it was with greatest effort that he _didn’t_ fall out of the barstool. He shook his head to respond to her question, but was so nervous that an answer refused to leave the tip of his tongue. _What was wrong with him today?_

“Don’t worry about it,” George finally managed to say after a long minute and a sip from his beverage. She looked at him understandably, and he could not help stopping his mind from racing. The moonlight shone from above them and reflected on her face, accentuating her features. It was hard not to think of how pretty she was, and a good moment passed before he finally looked away from her. _She was alone._ People were laughing and conversing near them, couples dancing and friends talking. Happiness infected the air, but she was alone - just like him. The two of them were quiet, though, reminiscing under the starlight. Ron and Hermione had stolen the attention, and people clapped and awed as the two of them danced. Her dress was a pretty violet hue, Ron’s tuxedo a dark blue similar to the night sky above them. How he wished to have a love like theirs, but who would possibly like him in that way? After all, the girl he had crushed on had chosen his _identical_ _twin brother_ over him. Love was pathetic for him. George sighed.

The girl did the same. “They’re so perfect, aren’t they?” She asked, longing evident in her tone. Ron and Hermione kissed under the stars as people cheered. “I have to admit, I didn’t want to come at first, but my father convinced me to. I’ve never been a fan of weddings.”

“You’d be delighted to know that my last wedding got crashed by Death Eaters,” George chuckled. A light breeze ruffled his hair as if to remind him. “So me either.”

They both laughed, shaking their heads. The silence that followed was spent observing the guests or ordering more drinks for themselves. The girl ordered herself a firewhiskey and immediately spattered out her drink, admitting that she had never drank alcohol before this event - alcohol wasn’t legal in America until you turned 21 and her parents were strict rule-followers. He couldn’t suppress a chuckle at her reaction. 

“Oh, shut up!” She laughed, shoving him. And of course, her laugh was perfect. “Why’re _you_ here, anyways?”

George’s eyes widened in surprise. Something so obvious had managed to go missing, and so he pointed at his red hair then at Ron. It felt quite relieving to not be associated with one of his siblings, yet it astounded him that the girl couldn’t figure it out. “Take a guess.”

“Oh, I’m so _stupid!_ ” She shook her head, then held out her hand. “Shira Carter.”

“George.” They shook hands, a smile on both of their faces.

“Well, George, I have to admit that you look awfully lonely tonight.” Shira crossed her arms, her own beverage almost spilling into her lap. While the rest of the guests all seemed entertained in some form or another, George and Shira were just about the only people without dates. What was typically considered a lonely thing no longer felt that way: George couldn’t feel more welcome with her. It seemed like they were both in similar situations and had absolutely nothing to lose. 

“Could say the same thing about you,” He chuckled, sipping his firewhiskey. 

“Three failed relationships, an escaped fiancé by the age of twenty, and my gay dads are convinced it’s because I’m secretly a lesbian. _Beat that_ ,” She smiled. 

_“Are_ you a lesbian?” He asked, amused, his eyebrows raised.

“The last thing from it!”

“Well, Shira, my lovely twin brother is engaged to the girl I’ve liked since my first year of school just because he asked her out quicker than I could. You might as well figure how _that one_ turned out.” George pointed to a couple crazily dancing across the field: it was Fred and Angelina. Her head was dug into his shoulder, the both of them smiling wildly. Maybe it was the alcohol, but his heart ached a little bit.

“The one you translated the speech for?” 

“Precisely that one.” 

“And he’s engaged to her?”

“Should I repeat myself?”

“No offense to her, but you deserve better than _that_.” Shira was referencing Angelina, who was now stuffing her face with chocolates from the buffet. Fred was laughing, doing the same. 

And her words echoed in his head as she ordered the two of them champagne from the bartender. They really didn’t need more alcohol - they were already tipsy, swaying in their seats to the beat of music playing. The loud melodies blared through the field, funneling through his ears and providing a messy soundtrack for the moment. 

Maybe Shira was right. He had long given up on love. Every girl he had liked before never felt the same way about him, and he had eventually resigned his efforts for any form of attachment. George was almost convinced that he was unlucky until he met Shira.

She tapped his shoulder and handed him his glass of champagne. The fizzy liquid bubbled and the glass reflected the moonlight into his eyes. Shira chuckled and raised her glass into the air.

“To hopeless love!” She declared, a smile on her face. Her blue eyes looked happy, understanding, excited. 

The song in the background had changed to a slow jazz that was once again unrecognisable, but the lyrics stuck out to George as his heart beat faster and faster.

 _Dance me to the end of love…_ the male voice sang through invisible speakers.

“To hopeless love!” He repeated.

And maybe it _was_ the alcohol this time that caused him to kiss her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to this story! thanks so much for deciding to read it - remember to comment and kudos as it means a lot. the first few chapters might be a bit slow just to give you an introduction to the storyline and the characters, so i apologize if it's boring.
> 
> also! all antisemitic comments will be deleted. please be respectful. if you have any questions about judaism or israel, you can always comment them or message me - my messages are always open.   
> the israeli government is not great and many israelis and jews are not happy with it. just like how americans or brits or anyone else aren't equivalent to their government, the exact same goes for israelis. reminder that comments such as "free palestine" will get deleted. i am completely pro-palestine, but comments such as those are incredibly antisemitic and have nothing to do with the story.   
> once again, my messages are always open if you want to learn more about israel, judaism, or the israel-palestine conflict. i will give you my best, unbiased answer as an israeli jew. the comments are also open for discussion, but i'm asking that you stay respectful.  
> i will not be posting this whole announcement about israel again, so please keep this in mind.
> 
> anyways, sorry for the long note! i hope that you enjoyed the chapter!


	2. The Aftermath

**THE EFFECTS OF THE ALCOHOL** from the night before provided George with a lovely, painful headache the following morning. Not even a defeated groan distracted him from his misery. His senses felt sharp and violent - something that only happened whenever Fred convinced him to participate in a game of Firewhiskey Exploding Snap - and in an attempt to turn over in his bed, he was blocked by a pressure on his chest, hair tickling his neck, and warm summer air brushing against his skin from a nearby open window.

It was only as the pressure lifted and the melody of shuffling feet against a wooden floor echoed into his ears that he realized what had _really_ happened.

“Good morning,” An American voice spoke in a tired yet cheerful manner when George finally opened his eyes. Bright, gleaming light from a crack in the bedroom’s curtains blinded him as he looked around the area. A moment passed before he realized that he was, in fact, in his and Fred’s childhood bedroom. A Gryffindor banner hung from a wall, books meant to help with potions skills and journals filled with joke shop ideas crowded their bookshelves up to a brim, an almost empty closet (only occupied with Fred and George’s dress robes for an extravagant ball that had taken place in their sixth year at Hogwarts), and empty glass beakers reminding of his and Fred’s joke product experiments as teenagers scattered around the floor. Even his ancient quidditch robes were hung up on an old chair in the corner of the crowded room, providing yet another accent of red to the space. It took a moment before the light felt more natural to George’s hungover eyesight and he noticed a heap of clothes on the floor at the foot of his bed, a girl grabbing a pair of socks from the pile. It was Shira - the girl he had met the night before. The red dress she was wearing almost blended in with the rest of the room as she slipped on the pair of black socks. 

Her eyes, however, looked a bright blue as morning light shone through a nearby window. 

“What’s happening?” asked George, his voice raspy and dry. It was no doubt morningtime, although the specific hour remained uncertain. Merry chatter and noise reverberated through the walls of The Burrow, the occasional laugh or noisy clank faintly filling the air. He could barely detect the scent of bacon and eggs from downstairs. His stomach churned. Shira was now leaning against a wall for support. In one hand she held her nice shoes, using the other to quickly slide them on. They had mud stains on them, probably from the amount of dancing she and George did the night before, and a smile creeped onto his face as he began to remember the happenings of the past twenty-four hours. He kissed her and she kissed him back, and they danced on to the late hours until they ended up in his old bedroom and, well…

“I’ve got to go,” Shira responded. She hurriedly slipped on a dark trenchcoat over her pretty dress - its purpose unknown in the warm summer months - and moved to the closed door at the entrance of the room, hand on the handle. “Dad wants to show me around London and Brighton before we go back to New York. Plus, my job can’t wait _forever_.”

George sat up in his bed. His yellow-and-white checkered blanket fell to his lap, revealing his undressed torso, and he quickly grabbed his nice dress-shirt from the heap of clothes on the floor in embarrassment. Shira could not help but lightly chuckle, but George quickly turned red. Even if she had already seen him as so, it nevertheless remained humiliating. He quickly interrupted her amusement. “You’re leaving? When?”

“This evening.” She smiled bittersweetly. Her dirty blonde hair was unkempt and untidy as she ran her fingers through it poignantly. How pretty she looked, and how George would miss her.

“Tragedy, I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast. Mum always makes us eat the leftovers after events and you’d have the joy of eating _cold filet mignon_. A fun time, really.”

“Well, _I’ll_ become cold filet mignon if I don’t meet dad on time. You understand, right?”

He nodded as he flopped back onto his bed, his head hitting his pillow. It deflated at the instance, making his headache even worse, and he sighed. Even his quidditch posters seemed to frown with him at the unfortunate event. The sounds of his jolly family downstairs did not seem to help either, and he simply looked back at Shira. She was observing the room in a fascinated manner. His weathering posters, many of them filled with moving photos of his favourite Quidditch teams or musicians, seemed to captivate her and it wasn’t until he picked up the remainder of his clothes from the floor that she looked back at him. Her eyes were even brighter in the light and it took every nerve in George’s body not to kiss her again.

“Before I go,” She continued. The silence that had filled the air slowly grew uncomfortable and it was a relief for it to be broken. “When are you going to make the announcement?”

George furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of what she was referring to.

“ _The_ _announcement_. The engagement.”

“Whose engagement? Fred and Angelina are already fiancéd, mind you.”

“No, silly. _Our_ engagement. I mean, since we’ve already slept together and all that… perhaps we ought to get married. What were _you_ thinking?”

His mouth dropped. To be quite honest, he wouldn’t mind marrying Shira at all. However, the declaration felt a bit soon and he was not one for spontaneous decisions. It was a completely Fred trait, which he admired completely, but still…

Who proposed after (less than) twenty-four hours of knowing a person?

And why _him_ , out of all people?

“I’m absolutely flattered, but…” George trailed off only to see a cheeky smile on her face and her arms crossed. “You’re joking!”

She nodded, now laughing. Her laughter was filled with warmth and cheerfulness. It felt genuine and sweet and inviting. For a second, it was easy to forget that Shira was American and was supposed to be leaving in hours’ time. It was easy to forget George’s sudden unhappiness, and even her drunken laughter from the night before remained warm and sincere like this morning’s. If _only_ she could stay.

“For a second there, I thought you were Celestina Warbeck. You’d ask me out and we’d live happily ever after,” George exhaled sarcastically.

“No, but you just missed out on a wonderful opportunity,” She grinned. And as she opened the door behind her, she winked at the redhead and stepped out.

With each following footstep down the house’s steps, the sadness came creeping back in and George flopped back onto his bed. He sank his head into his pillow, a sad sigh escaping his lips.

“Bloody hell, George. Can’t keep a girl, can you?” He groaned to himself, voice muffled in the pillow. 

Because no matter how many times unreciprocated and unrequited love had occurred in his life, this time felt _different_ . This time, he wasn’t overlooked and compared to Fred. He didn’t have to act out to prove himself and he didn’t have to give her all of the reasons Fred teased him for being the quieter one, especially since after the war. And he _especially_ didn’t need the alcohol to understand that perhaps she was the _one_ . They had spent hours into the night laughing about their incompetent chances at love and silly hopes for the future. Their lousy and drunken attempts at dancing left a foolish smile on his face and champagne stains on his button-down shirt. Was it odd that two strangers could understand each other so well and was George delusional for thinking that maybe, just _maybe_ someone might actually like him back?

Maybe Fred had slipped a love potion into his drink the night before. He certainly had his ways. It was something to think about, even if the door to the bedroom suddenly swung open. George lifted his head from the pillow and looked at the direction of the noise.

A tall figure stood at the entrance - Fred. His red hair was dark and tousled, his eyes unhappy and irritated, his new clothes clean yet wrinkled. He did _not_ look happy, more aggravated than anything, and his fatigue gave it away. Dark bags were visible under his eyes. They were especially noticeable with the petty scowl that plastered itself on his face.

A nervous twirl presented itself in George’s stomach and he looked at his twin brother, baffled. _What did Fred want?_ And with his eyebrows furrowed and his left hand occupied with two coffee cups, Fred leaned against the doorframe and exhaled. He signed, _“I had to share Bill and Charlie’s room last night, y’know. Not fun, Georgie. I repeat:_ not fun _.”_

 _“And what do you want me to do about that, Fred?”_ George signed back. Weariness was hinted in his voice as he spoke, his exhaustion and the after-effects apparently visible as a slightly sorry look overcame Fred’s face. The twin brother walked into the room and plopped down on the small bed next to George’s. It creaked at his weight, the matching yellow-and-white blanket shifting at the new visitor. Fred handed George one of the coffee mugs, yet pettiness was still in his eyes regardless of the situation.

 _“I don’t know. Maybe you shoulda accepted her proposal. It’s nice to know that someone actually_ likes _you. Warms my heart a little…”_ He gestured, a cheeky smile barely visible as he sipped his coffee. The sight of George’s green tuxedo blazer scattered on the floor caused Fred to chuckle. Its ugly colour was better than a sad-looking George, but putting pieces together caused Fred’s eyes to widen and a shocked look to appear on his face. _“Oh my god, you lost your virginity!”_

 _“It’s as if you don’t remember what happened when you snuck in firewhiskey to the Yule Ball and dared Angelina, Alicia, Lee and I to play truth or dare…”_ The one thing that had remained the same after the war was Fred’s sense of humour, which was both amusing and not so much so. 

_“Ah, right. How is Alicia by the way?”_

_“Shut up, Fred.”_

_“Alright, alright!”_ With that, his twin brother stood up and placed the tuxedo jacket onto the foot of George’s bed. A smile still remained on Fred’s face as he walked back to the entrance of his childhood bedroom and shook his head faintly. “ _If you don’t remember, by the way, me and Angelina need to move into our new flat in two days and Angelina’s already left to pack. So no rush or anything, but we need to rush.”_

“Please leave,” George finally spoke. A pout from his twin and George was left alone again in the space. It felt as lonely as before, the expanse bragging its crowdedness as he slowly got up from his old bed and slipped on his shoes. The weather was far too hot to put on his jacket and he let it rest on his arm as he made his way downstairs. The stairs creaked at his footsteps, regardless of how careful he tried to be, and his head bumped the ceiling on multiple occasions no matter how he tried to lean down. Eventually, he reached the bottom floor of the house and stopped at the bottom of the staircase. The exuberant scene did not seem interrupted by his presence: Percy, Charlie, and their father were heatedly discussing new ministry laws while Ginny was helping their mother cook breakfast and set the table. Bill and Fleur were sitting at a windowsill, quietly chatting amongst themselves, drinking tea. Fred was standing by the fireplace with Harry Potter, attempting to get him to try some new joke shop products in an animated manner. Upon George’s entrance, however, Fred raised his arms and clapped.

“There he is! The man has awoken!” He loudly announced, and the family turned their heads towards the new person in the room. Fred’s speech became considerably louder ever since he had lost his hearing. Nevertheless, his volume startled everyone in the room and they smiled at George’s appearance. Mrs. Weasley did not seem so happy.

“Oh, be quiet, Fred! Ron and Hermione are still sleeping!” She spoke, her eyebrows furrowed in criticism. Fred whistled. The scrambled eggs she was preparing sizzled and she quickly muttered a spell to move the pan to the table. It landed on the tabletop along with the already-ready toast and sausages. His mother’s breakfasts were one thing George constantly missed after he moved out with Fred and it was always something he looked forward to when visiting his family. The smell was inviting and he moved towards the table along with everyone else, tempted to eat the entirety of the prepared food if he could.

“No acknowledgements that I’m speaking? Alrighty then, be that way,” Fred rolled his eyes, grabbing two pieces of toast with jam on them. Harry, who sat next to Charlie, laughed at the statement but quickly went quiet after Mrs. Weasley scowled. Fred handed George the second piece of toast before their mother could kill him. “George and I need to leave _anyways_ ,” he huffed again.

The people booed at Fred’s proclamation. It almost made George want to stay, but Fred was persistent and started heading towards the entrance of the house. He could barely hear everyone asking them to stay. Lip-reading had become a skill for Fred but his bad hearing still remained a problem.

“Wait! At least take more food, you two!” Their mother declared, holding up the plate of sausages she had made. “I would’ve offered some to the girl that left, but the food wasn’t ready.” The woman frowned.

“Who was that, by the way?” Ginny asked. Curiosity was now on everyone’s faces as they ate their breakfast. George turned red at the question and immediately looked down. God knows how his family would react to what had happened. It wasn’t something he particularly longed to find out, but it was inevitable. 

“If you _must_ know, George slept with her.” Fred crossed his arms as he answered the question, stopping in his place. Excitement from the family bubbled, questions erupting as everyone abandoned their meal. If George hadn’t previously wanted to leave, he did now. Attempts at moving towards the entrance were interrupted by inquiries and interrogations, making the task impossible.

“Who _was_ she, though?” Bill asked, sipping on his orange juice. His eyebrows were raised.

“Wasn’t she the one that George got really drunk with last night?” Charlie questioned. “It didn’t strike me as a George thing to get drunk with girls and have one-night stands. More of a Fred thing, really.”

“Hey!” Fred exclaimed as he rushed to Charlie and punched him on the shoulder. Charlie was the sibling who everyone turned to for advice when they needed it, even writing letters to him when he was away for his job. It provided him with plenty of advantages in a variety of situations, which resulted in both humour and embarrassment. This situation was one of them. 

Laughter arose as a fight nearly ensued. George was happy, even, regardless of his previously anxious state. Their father was forced to tear Fred and Charlie apart, a smile on everyone’s face as the dispute was broken apart. “I would’ve won, y’know,” Fred scoffed.

Yet Charlie pointed to his arms, which were muscular as a result of his dragon-related job, and shook his head. “ _Sure_ you would’ve, Fred.”

“You never win against Charlie, brother,” George grinned as he was forced to take back his twin brother before anything worse was bound to happen. His piece of toast was no longer of interest as the questions about Shira continued. Even Percy was interested, who had previously stayed quiet in the conversation. 

“I believe that was David and Amit’s daughter…” Their father trailed off as he read that day’s new issue of the Sunday Prophet. He only put the newspaper down to answer everyone’s continued questioning. Apparently David and Amit were not of much mention in the household, as Mrs. Weasley was the only one to not question their identities. It caused everyone much surprise to hear that David and Amit were in fact husbands from New York: David originally interning with their father at the Ministry for experience and eventually working for the American ministry, and Amit an Israeli who knew 11 languages and moved to New York City to become a magizoologist and translator. Apparently Amit’s family name was familiar to Fleur, who claimed that the Carter family was famous in Beauxbatons for having a history of almost perfect exam scores. George’s heart fluttered knowing that maybe Shira was smart too. She had mentioned going to Ilvermorny like one of her dads, but that wouldn’t change anything, right?

“So our Georgie likes the smart girls!” Fred exclaimed loudly. The news about Shira’s fathers excited everyone and the sound of footsteps from above indicated the awakening of Ron and Hermione, who swiftly came downstairs to find out what all the noise was about. All of the noise made George’s headache worse, but he simply took a glass of juice and drank it in hopes of feeling better. Ron and Hermione looked tired and mildly annoyed, still dressed in their wedding clothes, though everyone’s enthusiasm caught on and their mood lightened. After little and hurried congratulations to the both of them, Bill filled the newly wed couple on the excitement and the attention turned back to George, who was quite red from all the attention. Perhaps leaving didn’t feel like such a bad idea now, and George tapped Fred’s shoulder to indicate his want to leave. Fred did not notice and the happiness continued. 

“Huh,” shrugged Ron, who stole a sausage from Percy’s plate and ate it. “Did we ever get her name? Or is this like one of those strangers to lovers muggle films that Hermione keeps showing me?”

Everyone turned to George yet again. He tried to change the topic, but his attempts were atrocious and the family pursued. Every single question felt like a hit to the chest, another reminder that Shira was probably long gone and he would probably never see her again, and what good did that do him? And with every question, he realised that maybe he didn’t know so much about her like he thought. He could not tell Charlie what or where she worked or tell Harry what her patronus was (who even asks that when meeting a person?), but answered any question he could. He could really only tell them about the stories they shared of school and love, but did he want to tell them that? George just longed to see her again, to see her eyes again, to laugh with her and talk with her until they ran out of breath. “It’s Shira,” he finally succumbed. The name rolled off the tip of his tongue like honey.

He already missed her.

Their mother was not as happy as the rest of the family. “Is this really a good way to spend your time, George? I thought that you and Fred left your experimenting days at hogwarts-”

“First of all, Mum, I take _full_ responsibility for all of that,” Fred smiled, grabbing yet another piece of toast and spreading jam over it. “Second, don’t you see how happy Georgie looks? He hasn’t been like this since God knows how long! Let him be in love!”

This caused an echo of _awes_ and agreements across the room. Apparently, his feelings were obvious and his father claimed that he hadn’t seen George like this since he developed feelings for Angelina in their first year. His feelings for Angelina eventually faded, yet it seemed like the ones for Shira wouldn’t. He knew they wouldn’t. 

“You can all be quiet now,” George declared after endless minutes of his family discussing love and Shira and George. He tugged at Fred’s sleeve and subtly pointed to the door when Fred looked at him. He felt dirty wearing his stained clothes from the night before, not to mention how ugly they looked. And, he couldn’t stop thinking of her and needed space to himself without hearing his family mentioning their soon-to-be wedding and feeling like combusting. “Fred and I need to leave, if you don’t remember.”

With that, the twins took their last pieces of toast and left their childhood home. Views of nearby hills and fields were vast and memories of sneaking out to meet friends or play late-night quidditch in summer months flooded back to George. Flowers smelled sweet and the midday sunlight was bright. If Shira was here, he’d dance with her into the fields until the stars shone above them.

The touch of Fred’s arm against his distracted him.

 _“What’re you doing?”_ George signed, confused.

 _“You think I’m going to let my lovesick, hungover brother Apparate on his own? No, sir!”_ Fred responded, rolling his eyes happily as if the answer was right in front of them.

Fred was right. George could not stop thinking about Shira. He was hungover, a headache making his sense heightened and peaky. He was also hopelessly in love, the words of his family ringing in his ears and the memories from the night before begging for attention.

And thinking about it, his twin brother was correct: he hadn’t felt this happy since the war. It had taken a great toll on him and anything like that was hard to shake off. Shira had felt like a distraction to him, someone who had actually understood him.

And perhaps Shira was right too. Maybe he _had_ missed out on a wonderful opportunity. It was rare to feel like this about anyone, let alone the possibility of them liking him back. 

A realization came to George suddenly as he took his last bite of toast and he exhaled.

“Fred, I think I should find her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little pronunciation guide for the names:  
> shira is shee-ruh  
> amit is uh-meet


	3. Reunions Over Shakespeare

TRANSLATOR

**babka (n),** ** _polish_** **|** **BUH-b-kuh:** grandmother

_ OR _

**babka (n) | BUH-b-kuh:** a cake, similar to 

challah, that typically has chocolate 

inside of it. originated in the jewish 

communities of poland, ukraine, and

russia. a popular dessert in the jewish 

and israeli communities.

  
  


**IDEALLY, SHIRA CARTER WOULD** not be going to work with an old copy of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ in the pocket of her champagne-stenched trenchcoat. She wouldn’t be going to work with an eight hour jet lag either, but this was  _ far _ from an ideal world. She was stuck with both unfortunate occurrences. 

Perhaps this jet lag would be the reason for her demise. After all, she had grabbed the trenchcoat instead of her other coat-slash-uniform early that morning without much attention as she realised that she was almost late for work. Now, the New York City streets were unusually busier as Shira’s tired vision led the way to her destination and she could think of nothing except the book weighing down her coat. (And of course she also couldn’t stop thinking about a certain redhead whenever her coat’s sweet scent became especially bothersome - the smell reminded her of  _ that night _ .) It was a wonder that Shira hadn’t gone crazy by the time she arrived at the steps of her workplace. 

She would much rather travel the towns of England than be here, and much rather be with the redhead that occupied her mind than work. Unfortunately, though, she was forced to face reality when confronting the wooden doors in front of her. A sigh escaped her lips as she knocked on the surface with a certain rhythmic routine, and the doors soon opened into a familiar space.

A sign appeared above her as she walked in. It read “St. Hugh’s Hospital for Magical Situations”. As much as she didn’t like her job sometimes, this was  _ home _ . Hectic chatter almost seemed to bounce off the walls as she stepped inside; healers with different shaded coats walked hurriedly with clipboards and potions and textbooks; people were reunited with family or were given news; paper airplanes flew through the air to communicate with the various departments; the smell of coffee and unidentified potions hinted the air.  _ Home _ .

This home required check-ins, however, and Shira groggily made her way to the reception desk to do just that. Why the hospital needed its workers to fill out a form every day was always a wonder to the girl and it remained a question in her head as the receptionist handed her a paper and pen. “Name: Shira A. Carter” “Department: healer, magical diseases and ailments” “Circle yes or no if you’ve been in contact with contagious diseases in the past week” and so on. For a magical workplace, the routine was awfully slow. It was hard not to fall into a deep slumber during the process and it wasn’t until she was almost done that something was able to wake her up so suddenly.

“Is that Shira Avigail Carter?” A female voice loudly called. She turned around to find the source of the noise only to see a young brown-haired woman, her arms resting on her hips, her eyes gleeful at the sight of Shira. Smiles crept on both of their faces as the two made eye contact. 

“The one and only!” Shira beamed, her arms in the air as if to present herself. All of her previous misery was suddenly forgotten upon the sight of the person, who had her hands up and ran towards the newcomer. Onlookers stared at the loud scene, though the two girls simply laughed and fell into a hug. “Margot Vance Benjamin, you are a bitch.”

“I know that, say something I don’t know.” The friend rolled her eyes and straightened up her pale red coat. It was much like a doctor’s coat - her mum was a muggle and made the comparison one day when visiting - except that each healer at the hospital had a differently coloured one according to their department. 

“You are an absolute, royal bitch. I was gone for exactly twenty two days and you only wrote me twenty one letters! I was worried sick! I was like, ‘Why didn’t Margot write me on June sixteenth? Is she ill? Did she  _ die _ ?’ You are a bitch,” Shira sarcastically spat, pulling away from the tight hug. Margot was one of Shira’s closest friends: they both worked in the same department, assigned as colleagues when she was new to the hospital and needed someone to show her around the job. They made out to be the best of companions and the rest was history. 

“I’m your favourite bitch, though,” Margot declared, her eyebrows raised and fingers pointed as if she were answering a question correctly. 

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

“I am  _ one hundred percent _ your favourite bitch. You know what else I am?”

“What else?”

“I am also other people’s favourite bitch-” 

“-Inconceivable!”

“Yes, believe it or not - and you better finish up so they can see my  _ beautiful _ face again. For all we know, they might be going through favourite-bitch withdrawal symptoms as we speak!”

“I highly doubt it,” Shira huffed at the declaration. A sly grin was present on her face, her arms now crossed, her chin raised in mischievous and immature sarcasm. She had entirely forgotten about completing her check-in until Margot nudged her with a certain loving annoyedness. So she answered the last few questions, drew in her signature, and took a nametag from the receptionist - who had his eyebrows furrowed in judgment upon the two girls’ silly debate. 

Shira was home. 

“These look rather new,” She observed as the two began walking, the nametag in the palm of her hand. It read:  _ S. Carter, m.d.a _ in an obnoxious white font. “The nametags were perfectly fine before, I don’t understand why they’d change it.”

Margot chuckled, shaking her head. “The psychiatry department thought it would be more organised if we added our departments to them, because apparently some people can’t figure out what our coat colours mean.”

“Well, you’ve got to give it to them for the effort. As stupid as it is,” Shira smirked. The psychiatry department was relatively new, only established a year before she had become a healer. It received much appraisal, but had slowly taken a big role in the hospital’s decisions - using  _ ‘the people’s wants’  _ as an excuse. The whole ordeal was quite silly.

“Don’t let Letta and Cosmo  _ ever _ figure out that you said that. They will kill you in your sleep!” The two snorted at Margot’s statement, now sharply turning left to what was the cafeteria. Circular tables were set up throughout the vast space, the smell of food hung in the air, the sound of people talking and laughing filled her ears. “Speaking of the devil…” 

A beam came across Shira’s face - three familiar heads had caught their attention. They were sitting at a table in the corner of the room, quietly chatting amongst themselves as they ate. And two of these heads just happened to be who Margot had just referenced: Violetta and Cosmo. It was quite a miserable scene to be honest. The two had their noses buried in textbooks, only conversing when trying to figure something out. The other friend was in a desperate attempt to help them, but Shira knew it was of no use. Violetta and Cosmo were in the psychiatry department - one that required understanding of people. The other friend, Lio, worked in the creature induced injuries department. He knew nothing of the human brain. Margot and Shira quickened their pace, determined to save the scene, giggling at the dejected situation.

“Surprise, babka!” Shira exclaimed upon their arrival, sneaking up to the curly-haired boy from behind and wrapping her arms around his slumped shoulders. He was munching on a slice of babka - a dessert that Shira had introduced to him long ago. It had become his favourite pastry soon after the introduction, earning him the nickname. (And also because his dark brown hair was already beginning to grey, thus giving the name a double-meaning.)

“Ugh, you  _ reek _ of sparkly alcohol and budding romance,” Lio declared blatantly as he sat up straighter. His light green coat stood out against his tan skin, an obnoxious nametag residing on the right corner - it read  _ L. Kahanui, c.i.i. _ in the same white font as Shira’s. The odd thing was that it suited him. “I still love you though.  _ Please _ make us some more babka.”

“Always the observant one,” She sarcastically rolled her eyes. The boy pulled her into a joyful embrace as soon as she plopped down on the seat next to him. The two had been the best of friends since Ilvermorny, their families both being intelligent overachievers and neither of the kids being particularly interested in living up to it. It was his idea to become healer after they had passed enough of their exams for it to become an option. Only once the two got hired at the hospital was when they met Margot, Violetta, and Cosmo. The three of them were now looking at Shira in a curious manner, Violetta and Cosmo no longer captivated by their textbooks. “What?”

“How was the wedding, Shir?” asked Violetta. Her voice was sweet and inquisitive, much like herself - it was well known that she had almost started a day school for young wizards before hearing about the psychiatry department at St. Hugh’s and abandoning all of her plans. Apparently the project was completely funded by MACUSA too, which made her decision to become healer even more preposterous. Regardless of her bewildered reputation, she was still one of the nicest people that Shira had met. “Margot says you refused to write about it-”

“-Something about it being ‘too fun that we’d get offended by the details?’” Cosmo finished her sentence - he and Violetta were a couple and instances like these were never rare. He was the more studious one in the relationship, the only one of the two who hadn’t closed his psychiatry textbook or put away his highlighters. 

“Hey!” Shira shoved Margot, who was seated beside her. It caused their wooden seats to shake and the table to rumble. “In my defense, it was only four days ago.” She pointed to the bags under her eyes. “But also, I’m not denying that this wedding didn’t aggressively suck. I’m  _ still _ tired.”

“You’re also deathly red,” said Lio, gesturing towards her face, a grin wide across his - and grins across everyone else’s for that matter. In the reflection of a nearby glass cup, Shira could see herself and she was blushing and she knew  _ exactly _ the reason why. (You see, no one who grew up in a constantly travelling family was  _ really _ tired after two days of being back home. While her tricks against jet lag were perfected, the reasons for staying up so late were not so easily combated.) 

“Care to point out anything else, Mr. Notice-It-All?” Shira shook her head immaturely, crossing her arms. Her friends merely continued to look back at her in expectancy of a further answer. “Fine, there might have been  _ someone _ .”

“Twenty galleons!” Margot cried out. Her arm was held out across the table in Cosmo’s direction. The black-haired boy exhaled in defeat as he began to search the interior of his pale blue coat, eventually pulling out several coins from an inside pocket and placing them in the girl’s hand. She whistled at her triumph, then turned back to Shira - who was confused as ever. “Excuse us, Cosmo and I had a bet on whether or not you’d meet the next love of your life by my birthday. But do continue what you were saying!”

A moment of silence as Shira blushed even harder.

“So uh, here’s the thing. He was the groom’s older brother-” Shira confessed. A gasp travelled across the table at the statement. She could even see Margot mouth  _ scandalous _ and Lio shaking his head. Shira continued, her blush turning her visage even redder. “But hear me out, okay? He was actually funny and very sweet and  _ didn’t _ try to take me dumpster-diving after hitting on me for twenty minutes, which really says something about his decency.”

And she leaned back against her chair, her trenchcoat twisting against the rear of the seat. While her friends were immediately happy for the news, Shira was reminded of the copy of  _ Romeo and Juliet  _ laying deep in her left pocket. She had completely forgotten about the book until that very moment, her coat feeling heavy again. She reached into the pocket and took the publication out. The pink cover was bright and reminiscent of her face’s very shade. A cough swiftly escaped her throat as Shira sat back up, tapping Lio on the shoulder. “I got you a present,” The girl whispered, leaning in. Their friends were now in deep conversation, happiness tainting the air and livening up the mood. She would rather not interrupt the scenario with more chaos. 

“Yeah?” Lio whispered back, looking quite surprised. 

Shira handed him the book. “Oz gave it to me, he thinks it’s rather reminiscent of my love life. You reminded me of Mercutio, though, and I think you should have it. Don’t tell him.”

“I will make sure to read it and endlessly compare myself to the absolute legend Mercutio, then,” Lio laughed. The cheerful man flipped open the book and began to inspect the pages, the ancient language already seeming to throw him off.

And Shira couldn’t help but compare herself to Juliet. They were both two girls, young and in love and madly so. The only question was whether she would see Geeorge Weasley again, or the romance would crash and burn as it so frantically did in the play.

Because dear god, she hoped it would turn out alright.


End file.
